Garnerology
by clarkoholic
Summary: ology: Science theory study. Garnerology: Garner’s studies on a certain individual. TC Torture Clark. Work In Progress.
1. Default Chapter

Special thanks to Stacey, Will, Chelly and Kris.

A/N: There is a character in this fic (I'll give you one guess) that we've seen on the show. However this character wasn't developed a ton so I've taken it upon myself to change him up a bit. I've made him more of a smart ass than I think he was on the show. I wanted to tell you, so you are aware that this character is supposed to be OOC. So please don't freak out about it and try and accept him this way. Thanks!

* * *

"Clark!" Martha called from the kitchen as she prepared breakfast. 

Then, after a few minutes without his usual answer, she called again, "Clark! Breakfast!" She placed the frying pan of bacon on a trivet atop the breakfast bar and called again, "Hurry up or you'll be late!" The toaster popped out two more pieced of golden toast and she quickly picked them up and dropped them onto a plate. She filled two tall glasses of orange juice for her boys, set the pitcher down and waited. Another minute passed with no answer or creaks from the floorboards upstairs. She took a piece of bacon and ate it as she made her way up the stairs. "Clark, your breakfast is getting cold," she said as she licked her fingers.

His bedroom door creaked open as she knocked on it. She stepped inside; expecting to see him tangled in his covers with a pillow over his head, sound asleep, but instead she found it empty. His bed was made, meaning the blankets were quickly and sloppily thrown up and the pillows were crooked. His backpack hung on the back of his desk chair and his computer was turned on. A blue flannel shirt laid on his bed and his boots were where he left them, near his closet. After she quickly glanced around his room she went to the bathroom but it was empty as well.

"Martha?" Jonathan called from downstairs.

"Uh, I'm upstairs. Be right down," she answered then went back down the stairs. "Have you seen Clark this morning? He's not in the house."

"Yeah, he helped me earlier with the cattle," he sat down and began dishing his eggs and bacon, "Maybe he's in the barn."

"Maybe," she was confused. She hadn't seen or heard him leave. Granted, Clark had the ability to appear out of nowhere without making a sound but why would he go outside without his shoes. That wasn't like him. No, something wasn't right. She could feel it. "I'm going to go check," she gave Jonathan a kiss on the cheek and headed out the kitchen door.

Jonathan had finished eating and was putting his dish in the sink when Martha came back. He could see the worry on her face, "What is it?"

"He's not out there; I searched the whole barn. Something's not right, Jonathan."

Jonathan furrowed his brow; "Maybe he left early for school."

"Without saying goodbye? Or taking his backpack or wearing his shoes?"

"Martha, don't worry. I saw him half an hour ago. He probably just left in a rush." He gave her a kiss on the forehead, "But if it'll make you feel better, I'll call his cell phone," he picked up the phone, "and I'll give him an earful for making his mother worry." He joked.

Martha wanted to believe Jonathan, she really did. But her motherly instincts were kicking in. She knew her son and he wouldn't leave without warning. As Jonathan put the phone to his ear, Martha heard a ringing upstairs. She shot him a fearful glance before she ran upstairs. The ringing lead her to Clark's bedroom and to his cell phone that sat on his desk next to his wallet, keys and watch. Jonathan turned off the phone as he entered the room behind her and began to feel the fear she was feeling.

Clark was gone.

* * *

-Twenty Minutes Earlier- 

Clark pulled his jeans up, buttoned and zipped them, then pulled his belt through the loops and fastened it. He always felt so refreshed after a hot shower. He had gotten up early today to help his dad with chores, so he waited to shower so he wouldn't smell of farm for school. Well, smell more than he usually did. He sat on his bed, put his socks on and then pulled on a white t-shirt. He stood, grabbed his blankets and tossed them up over his bed. He picked up two pillows from the floor and dropped them at the head of the bed. He had never been neat when making his bed but he dutifully tried every morning.

He kicked his dirty boots out of the way so he could open his closet door then he pulled out a flannel to wear.

"You've got mail," his computer announced.

He sighed. Chloe was probably sending him another email, telling him not to forget about their meeting and not to be late again. He tossed his shirt on the bed and sat down at the computer. He moved his wallet, keys and watch from the mouse pad and set them next to his cell phone. He moved the cursor over the blinking 'inbox' link and clicked it.

An email window popped open then the screen instantly turned bright green. Vertical rows of binary code rapidly blinked up and down, penetrating his eyes, into his brain. The screen disappeared and he blinked. He stood and in an instant, he was gone; super speeding from his room, his home and headed for Metropolis.

"Clark!" Martha called from the kitchen as she prepared breakfast.

* * *

-Ten Minutes Earlier- 

"Is it ready?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder, peaking at the computer screen.

"Almost," she replied, "Can you give me some room here?"

He backed away, "Sorry." She typed with skill, her eyes darting back and forth under her stylish back rimmed glasses. "Did you word it exactly as I told you?" he asked.

"Yes," she continued typing.

"Read it back to me."

She sighed, "What? Don't you trust me?"

"Molly, you know I trust you but there is no room for error. Now read it back to me."

"Fine," she smiled as she clicked a few times on the mouse. A screen popped up and she read, "Do not speak with anyone. Do not make a sound. Come to twelve, Fulton Avenue in Metropolis. Once inside, go to room thirteen and close the door behind you. Leave immediately."

He smiled, "Perfect. Send it."

"Yes sir," she clicked send and swiveled around to face him.

"Lets get going. He'll be there soon."

"You've got mail," his computer announced.


	2. Update 2

A/N: In this fiction, the events of Delete haven't happened. So pretend you know nothing of Molly and her emails because our characters don't.

* * *

Clark came to a stop just outside the doors of twelve, Fulton Avenue. The building was gray, windowless, and indistinguishable from its neighbors with nothing but the numbered address identifying it. His expression was emotionless and his eyes were vacant as he read the numbers and walked through the doors.

The entryway had two hallways leading in opposite directions; he took the left one and followed it around a corner, reading the numbers next to each door along the way. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. He stopped outside of door thirteen and opened it. He stepped inside the empty room and when the door closed, two red lights on a small panel in the wall blinked then a clicking sound of the door locking was heard.

As the lock made its last click, a single piercing pain shot through Clark's forehead. He put his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, "Ahh!" Then as quick as it came, the pain was gone and he rubbed his temples as the ache subsided. He took his hands away and blinked to clear his blurred vision then he looked around the room. Wait…this wasn't his bedroom. Why wasn't he in his room?

There was a loud beep followed by a continuous clank. He spun around in his spot, trying to decipher the noise and switched into x-ray vision then quickly switched it back, "Lead…" he mumbled, "this can't be good."

The clanking grew as two panels on each wall began to fold into themselves, revealing a sickening green glow. He instantaneously felt the kryptonite and groaned as he hunched over with his arms folded over his stomach. As the panels folded smaller and the glow grew, so did the pain. He wasn't able to stand for long and fell to his knees. His muscles began to loose function and he wobbled on his shaking legs before falling onto his side. He kept his arms wrapped around his middle as he began to feel nauseated and heated from the close proximity of such a large amount of kryptonite.

An echoed pounding in his ears drowned out the sound of a door opening near him and the footsteps that followed. A pair of shiny black loafers stepped in front of his vision. He turned his head up to look at the shoes owner only to be greeted with a harsh kick in the chest, sending him onto his back. He let out a gasped moan as his breath was knocked from him. A pair of hands grabbed his collar and roughly pulled him from the floor. His attempt to fight back resulted in weakly gripping the arms holding him and trying to pull them off. His vision was fuzzy and he couldn't focus enough to see the identity of his attacker.

He had already felt disoriented, but now, after a few more punches to various areas, he couldn't tell up from down. The room spun around the blurred figure in front of him until he received a hard unyielding blow that mercifully knocked him unconscious.

* * *

Martha had spent the morning calling Clark's friends, asking if they had heard from him. She didn't want to alarm them so she pretended that he had left his cell phone at home and she needed to speak with him. It was partially true but she didn't want to worry them over something that could be nothing so she lied to their questions. Clark had only been missing for a few hours and she kept telling herself that he would walk through the door soon and everything would be a' okay. But it wouldn't be okay; she knew it, she felt it. No matter how many times she said he'd come back soon, she knew he wouldn't. There was a voice in the back of her mind screaming that she was fooling herself. The voice was urging her to search every inch of Smallville until she found him. To call the police and get every available hand to search the woods and fields for any sign of him.

The voice was her panic.

She'd heard that voice before. Several times. Every time there was a new meteor mutant in town and Clark went to save the day. Every time he was near or hurt by his only true weakness. Every time he missed curfew and she sat up waiting and wondering. Then, the two separate times he disappeared much like this. The first was horrible but they knew why and where he had gone. Lana had seen him leave. The second was worse, much worse, and all too similar to this day. Clark vanished without a trace and she was left alone to search.

She felt so grateful that this time Jonathan would be by her side, because she knew… she just knew this wasn't going to be easy.


	3. Update 3

Thank you all for your comments. They are very encouraging and help me greatly when writing the next section. Thanks!

* * *

Clark woke from the echoing sound of a slamming door. He instantly sat up and darted his eyes around the room. The last thing he remembered was the room filled with kryptonite and a not so pleasant visitor. Before that, he was in his bedroom getting ready for school when suddenly he wasn't there but in that other room. But that didn't make any sense. How could he have been sitting at his desk then in an instant, standing in another building? He shook the thought and decided that he could find out what happened later, right now he needed to find a way out of this place, wherever it was.

He stood, x-rayed the room and again, found lead walls, "Great." He walked straight toward the door and as he came within a few feet of it, several panels on the walls began to rise up, much like the previous room. The effects hit him with force; there was more kryptonite in this room, he felt it. He gripped his sides and stumbled forward until he ran into the door and slid down. The gray room turned emerald, bringing along with it the usual symptoms. His muscles began to constrict and the pounding in his head caused pains that made a migraine feel like a walk in the park. He felt like his brain was about to explode as a voice boomed loudly through the room, "Clark, you need to move away from the door."

At the moment, Clark didn't care who spoke or why he was supposed to move away from the door. He only knew he needed to do something so he followed the order and began to slowly drag himself toward the bed. It was painful and extremely exhausting because as he moved forward into the room, he moved closer to the poisonous walls. He crawled breathlessly until he couldn't anymore and collapsed only feet away from the bed. His shirt clung translucently to his overly sweaty chest. For someone who never sweat when playing sports or doing farm work, he sure did sweat plenty when in the presence of kryptonite.

He had felt the sensation of burning up from the inside out before, but this time it was magnified. He could feel the heat radiating from his skin and the blood boiling in his veins. The sensation worsened so much that he feared his skin might actually burn off until, finally, the panels protectively closed. Once he caught his breath, he sat up and wiped the sweat on his face with his shirt, which was pointless because his shirt was drenched as well. So he just sat there on the concrete for a few minutes, letting his body cool and thinking over the situation.

A click at the door took his attention and he watched as the lights on the handle blinked then the door opened and Dr. Garner walked in. He closed the door behind him and then stood with his hands in his pockets, merely looking at Clark.

"You. You did this?" Clark's voice was angry.

"Looks like you healed nicely. Sorry about earlier. I normally wouldn't do to that but I guess I still had some pent up aggression from that coma you inadvertently put me in."

Clark ignored the 'apology' and stood up, "What did you do to me? Where are my parents?" he stepped forward.

"Watch your step," Garner glanced down to a line molded in the solid lead floor.

Clark looked at the line separating him from the doctor, "What… if I cross the line the walls are activated?"

"You're a smart one," he smiled, "I thought it might be interesting to watch you figure it out over time but it's better this way. Can't have you dying now, can I?"

"What do you want?"

"You. Well, let me rephrase that. I want your mind. Your thoughts, your memories, everything."

"Why?"

"Why not? A being like you doesn't come around often and I intend to cash in on this opportunity. Plus, there's one question that's plagued me for, oh, about a year or so." He paused, "You remember that day, don't you? Of course you do. Luthor handed you over on a silver platter and wanted to know one thing and one thing only; where does Clark Kent come from? Sadly, I was unable to find that answer, but I didn't leave empty handed, that's for sure. Needless to say, I've been quite intrigued with you and your _talents_ for some time now."

He stepped forward and stopped directly on the line, "I know what you're thinking. You think I kidnapped you and I'm going to torture you until you tell me everything I want to know about you and your origins. Well, that isn't true. First of all, I would never resort to kidnapping. It's thuggish and, not to mention, illegal. Secondly, I'm not going to torture you… well, at least not deliberately. You'll simply tell me what I want to know."

"I'm not going to tell you anything because I don't have anything to tell."

"Don't lie. I know very well that you have strength, speed, and the ability to ignite fires by staring at an object. I'm sure you have more I'm unaware of, but like I said, you _will_ tell me everything."

Garner must have seen him use his powers; that was the only explanation. He quickly tried to conjure up an escape plan but nothing was coming to him. Everything was happening so fast and he felt like he couldn't think straight. He didn't understand what was happening or how he came to this place. He took a deep breath and looked back at Garner, "If you didn't take me, then how did I get here?"

"Simple. You ran."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Oh but you would and you did. You came here of your own will," he pointed to Clark's socks, "It's fairly evident from your socks."

Clark looked down and noticed his socks were dirty. No, not dirty…filthy. They had holes on the bottoms and were literally covered in dirt and tar. Had he ran to this place in his socks, without knowing it? "What did you do to me?"

"Nothing. I told you; you came to me."

"No I didn't," his tone was becoming angrier, "I would never willingly hand myself over to you. You did something and I'm going to find out what it was."

Garner snorted, "Try as you might but it won't change a thing. Now, I need to set up the initial tests. Make yourself at home and try to stay behind the line," he turned and began to open the door, "Oh and I wouldn't get too close to the walls either." With that, he walked out and the door shut and locked behind him.

Clark stood in his spot for several minutes, thinking. What the hell was happening?


	4. Update 4

Thanks for the feedback! This chapter is a little silly but still gives some goodness you'll enjoy (I hope).

* * *

A year ago, if someone told him that he would be forced into another tank filled with kryptonite laced water, he would have laughed in their face. Like hell he'd let that happen, right? Wrong. He didn't have much choice in the matter since Garner and his associates possessed the only thing that broke his ability to stop them. Each time was like the last; they stripped and secured him to the cold, metal table then lowered him into his acid. Garner would ask questions to penetrate his mind, pilfering his memories until he was satisfied. Garner didn't care about birthdays or Christmases; he didn't want to know Clark's joys and pitfalls. He wanted answers that could only be found in the deep recesses of the brain.

After the 'treatments', as Garner referred to them, he was allowed to shower quickly, but without soap. The kryptonite water was more like a gel, making it difficult to scrub off. He was too weak to stay standing so he sat on the grimy cement floor until the cold water shut off and a towel was thrown in his face. By the time he was taken back in his room, he was physically and mentally exhausted so he slept for the remainder of the evening until he woke hour's later, feeling re-energized with his returned strength and abilities.

* * *

There was a large digital clock on the wall, away from his reach, showing the time. He knew it was put there to purposely drive him insane. It's huge, grandpa sized numbers blinking at him over and over again, 10:34 p.m. Blink. 10:34 p.m. Blink. 10:35 p.m. Blink. He finally looked away, for his own sanity, and did the math to determine how long he'd have to wait until they came and took him again. Nine hours, give or take. What was he going to do for nine hours?

Six hours later, he began to wonder if it was possible to die from boredom. He had done just about everything he could think of to keep his body and mind busy and working. He paced, did jumping jacks, push ups, sit ups, ran in place, rearranged the furniture, measured the room using his foot as a ruler, and as the mind numbing boredom took over, he played hopscotch with imaginary boxes. It was one of those times he damned his constant energy but thanked his extraordinary memory. He could recount entire movies, books and television shows with ease, so he did.

Then, his inner twelve year old boy came out and, as if Pete was in the room double dog daring him to do it, he decided he would see how close he could get to the walls without them activating. Under normal circumstances he would have listened to the voice telling him what kryptonite felt like and what a stupid, stupid idea it was, but this wasn't normally circumstances. He told himself it would be good information to have for future reference. _Sure._ Plus, if he moved away quick enough they walls would close up, wouldn't they?

There wasn't a line near the walls like the door, so he stood in the center of the room, facing one of them and began taking small, baby steps towards it. Four feet. Three feet. Three and a half. Three and one fourth. Two. Two was all it took; not only did the panels begin to rise but an ear piercing siren began to blare, seemingly right next to his ear. He clutched his ears and stumbled forward. In his plan, he was supposed to move away from the walls, but the shrieking in his head disoriented him so much that he couldn't see straight. It felt like a fire engine siren was inches away, pointed directly at him, screaming at full blast. His legs gave out and his back hit the kryptonite wall and he slid down, causing him to scream out in pain from the unbelievable burning.

Moments later, the door flew open and Dr. Garner, dressed in pajamas and a robe, came in followed by two men. The men grabbed Clark's arms and pulled him into safety and Garner clicked a button on a small remote device he held. The sirens stopped but the walls remained open. Garner walked up to Clark, who was still grimacing from the kryptonite, "Damn it Clark! Did I not warn you about the walls?" he only received a glare mixed with anger and pain in return. "I'm not stupid, you know. I knew you'd try something like this, that's why I installed a siren, so I'd be able to stop you from killing yourself." Seeing that Clark wanted to say something but couldn't, he pressed a button and the walls closed.

Still in the grips of the strong men, he panted out, "I wasn't… trying to kill… myself."

Garner sighed and rubbed his face, his fatigue and frustration flickered momentarily only to be quickly banished with a callous look that cut Clark to the core. This man didn't have an ounce of care or concern for him. Garner stepped closer and squatted next to Clark and spoke in a chilling voice, "Now that you've gotten me up, we might as well begin today's treatments. With all this time we may be able to make double the progress. What do you say, Clark?"

Clark didn't respond, trying to harden his expression so Garner couldn't see the anxiety his words struck in him. He hated feeling so helpless and scared. That wasn't the type of person he was, at least not normally.

Dr. Garner laughed and punched Clark hard in the shoulder, in almost a brotherly way, then he stood up, "Bring him." The men obeyed and dragged Clark between them as they followed him out of the room.


	5. Update 5

There were panels along the walls, four feet apart from the next. Clark figured they must be able to sense his presence or maybe there was someone watching from a monitor, triggering them as he passed; he didn't know. But they opened and closed as he was taken down several halls to an elevator, effectively disabling him from escaping.

The pounding in his head flared and his muscles clenched tighter with each passing moment. He felt sick with nausea and dread. It was like the green mile. Knowing what was to come but unable prevent it, each step taking him closer to the inevitable torture. Dr. Garner told him he wasn't going to torture him for information. Apparently the good doctor didn't own a dictionary because Clark definitely considered what they did to him torture.

The elevator stopped at the basement level and the doors opened to the large treatment room. Dr. Garner grabbed Clark by the shoulders and pulled him up to eye level, "I have a surprise for you." He turned around, revealing a large vertical cylinder filled with the meteorite gelatin. "This tank was not supposed to be used until we made further progress but since we have extra time today I think we should give it a try." He smiled as Clark's eyes widened; the cylinder was much larger than the other tank and glowed a brighter green. He leaned in and whispered, "How long do you think you can hold your breath?" He laughed and released his hold, letting Clark slump against the men then walked away to his office.

Clark couldn't take his eyes off the tank. They were going to put him in that? _Under_water? Completely? It was huge, tall and round with electronics attached to it. Blinking white lights, reflecting against the green like tiny lightning bolts. He walked his mile and that was his electric chair.

He was being dramatic; he knew that. He was fairly certain it wouldn't kill him; Dr. Garner didn't want him dead -at least not yet- but the thought of being submerged in _that_ terrified him. Would they tie him to the bottom? Would the solution get into his eyes or nose? Would it hurt more than the other? Probably. But did he really have to hold his breath?

His shirt catching on his nose as it was tugged off shook him from his thoughts. He hated being stripped by the men; it was humiliating. After a few uneasy glances from one of them, he kept his eyes closed. They were told, 'look if you must but don't touch him' but Clark knew a few of the soft brushes against him weren't by accident.

A shiver went down his spine.

Dr. Garner walked back into the room, dressed and sipping from a coffee mug. He stepped onto a platform near the tank where three technicians were fiddling with the computers. Without looking up he said, "Hurry up."

The men finished stripping his clothes off and took him to the shower where they quickly rinsed him clean before forcing him onto a metal table and strapping him down. It was similar to the basket used in the previous tank only it didn't have sides; there were platforms on top and at the bottom. His feet were secured to the bottom platform and his arms and chest were strapped down. He shivered against the cold steel table but his face grew warm with a flush as he felt his nipples harden from the cold. He closed his eyes; ignoring the eyes that roamed over his body and the shameless grin the man attaching monitors to his skin was giving him.

The mechanics overhead started turning and the table he was attached to began to lift from the head, slowly pulling him upright. The two men stayed by his sides and guided him toward the tank as a technician operated the pulleys from the station. It moved slowly and with every inch closer they moved Clark felt the effects of it. He pulled at his wrist restraints and jerked his body in a last desperate attempt to break free. When it stopped, hovering over the tank, he slammed his head against the metal and gritted his teeth to bite back the pain of being so close. He squeezed his eyes shut, the monitor pads attached to his temples pulling his skin. He tried to let his tightened muscles relax naturally before his strength was completely zapped by the liquid and took slow, deliberate breaths in unison with the almost calming sway of the platform.

One of the assistants climbed a latter and turned Clark to face him. He placed a black oxygen mask over Clark's nose and mouth, followed by a pair of clear goggles. Clark felt some relief that he would be able to breathe but it quickly left when Dr. Garner's voice came from a speaker near his ears, "Ready, Clark?"

Clark shook his head and choked out, "No. Please," into the mask. There was no response except for the crank of the pulleys above and then the platform dropped quickly into the tank.

The pain was instant, like putting a cold hand under a steaming hot faucet. Sharp pricks shot throughout his body, choking his muffled screams. His fists clenched, his fingernails cutting into his palms, and his wrists bruising against their restraints as he pulled with a renewed strength that was drawn from his pain and desire to be free.

"Clark," the voice was dampened under the water but he could still hear it, "try to relax."

In his disoriented thoughts, Clark scoffed at him. Relax? Yeah, right. His body shook with force, rattling the platform against the glass; he couldn't control his muscles if he wanted to.

He kept his eyes closed and tried not to fight the convulsions, to let the tremors have the control and keep his focus on breathing.

"That's good." Garner encouraged, "Now think back and take me through your childhood, to your earliest memory."

Clark tried to block him, he tried to think of recent memories, anything that would keep Garner away from what he wanted but his mind began to drift. He couldn't direct his thoughts where he wanted them, the kryptonite stripping him of his will moment by moment.

"Where are we, Clark?"

"The woods. I'm lost," the words slurred uncontrollably from his mouth, the memory vivid as if he were there again. The same fear creeping back up his spine; alone, lost, scared.

"What happened?"

"I-I ran too f-fast," his voice shook, the pain increasing. "I didn't mean to."

"Take me further."

Clark's mind twisted and he felt the dizzying effect behind his eyes; it was nauseating. His memories swirled until coming to a stop at his very first, the one Garner had previously seen.

A beautiful woman, with long blonde hair hovered over him, stroking his cheek gently. Clark could feel the love she held for him and the pain in her heart for what she was about to do. "Kal El, my sweet." Her voice soothed his shaking; it drew him further into the memory.

"Who is she, Clark?" his voice was like sandpaper against Clark's ears, breaking his focus on her.

"No," Clark said through gritted teeth. He opened his minds eye again to see her, feel her. "Mom," he said aloud but in his mind, it was a soft baby's cry. A plea for her to safe him, take him, not leave him.

"She's your mother?" Dr. Garner thought back to their first experiment. "Lara?" he asked and noticed Clark's body jerk. He pressed on, "Clark, is her name Lara?" he asked loudly.

"_Stop!"_ Clark yelled but not in English, _"Shut up!"_ his body jerked again and began shaking.

Garner's eyes widened at the very foreign language and he looked to his equally shocked and intrigued technicians. Noting the physical change in Clark as he became increasingly aggravated, he said to one technician, "Monitor his vitals closely. Be ready to pull him out when I say." The tech nodded and turned to his screen.

"Clark," he called again, calmer than before, ready to move on. "Move to your next memory, leave this one."

Clark shook his head. "No" he called out, desperate to stay in the calm of her presence, but he'd lost control and the swirl of his memories began again, tugging him with it. It was sickening, his mind spun and his body shook, it was like a horrible carnival ride.

Dr. Garner watched the screen that formed a virtual visual of Clark's memories in awe. A mess of red, yellow and blue spun and twisted until it cleared like a plane breaking from a cloud, revealing stars. They shot past at unbelievable speeds until a planet came into view. It was Earth. "Amazing."

His stomach knotted and suddenly he wasn't in his memories anymore. He was back in the tank, the gel searing him like acid and his body shaking forcefully against his restraints. Grunting from the pain, he opened his eyes and the room was spinning, the lime gel seemingly swarming around him like a whirlpool. The nausea that had been building rose up and having nowhere to go, it choked him, filling his nose, lungs and throat.

"Damn it! Pull him out!" he shouted, watching Clark convulse on the monitor. There was a scurry of technicians around him but he kept his focus on Clark, thinking of what he had just discovered.

Clark felt the jerk of the platform as it began to rise and the cold air against his skin. His head was light and his chest burned, he was about to pass out when the mask was pulled from his face and his vomit spilled from his mouth. He gagged and coughed while struggling to breathe. His head hung forward with his mouth open, the remnants dripping as his stomach continued to heave. His body was slack still trembling against the restraints.

Dr. Garner came into his peripheral vision and turned the platform to face and examined him for moment. Clark took as an opportunity to stare into cold gray eyes and plead with his own but he didn't find anything, no spark of compassion, no hope to cling to, nothing but dangerous ambition.

Garner's expression didn't falter and he turned away, climbed down the latter and as he walked back to his station he said, "Put him back in."

"No," Clark muttered, his eyes wide, pulling weakly at the bindings. The mask was put back on and he shook his head, "No, no, no, please don't."

The cold voice was back in the speakers, "Clark, if you show me what I want to see we can stop for today. Now, take me back to space."


	6. Update 6

Thank you for reading and for waiting! I'm hoping I'll be able to finish it this time. Enjoy!

------

Clark woke on his bed hours later with a painful throbbing in his head and an ache running through his body. He rolled onto his back and groaned aloud, his muscles tight and sore, not at all relaxed or refreshed like normal after sleeping off the effects of the tank.

Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and winced at the sharp pains in his palms. The cuts made by his fingernails had yet to heal and had yellowish bruises forming around them. He sat up and the room began to spin so wildly that he had to lie back down and throw his arm over his eyes to keep from vomiting. The pounding in his skull grew; he broke out in a heavy sweat and the small trembling in his hands quickly spread throughout his body.

After a few minutes, the dizzying sensation behind his eyes stopped but the cold sweat and tremors remained. He pulled his blankets over his shoulder and tried to relax so he could sleep again, hoping he would feel better and his cuts might heal after more rest.

He thought of the memory of his birth mother and was comforted by the love he felt from her, but it also brought the painful reminder that he was away from his true parents, who loved and raised him. It made him sick to think that they didn't know where he was or why he was gone, to think about the fear and worry they must be carrying.

He fell asleep to the memory of joking with his dad while they fed the cattle the morning he found himself here. It was the last memory he had of him.

-

A hand shaking his shoulder woke him later, "Mom?" he mumbled.

"Not quite." The voice definitely did not belong to his mother and it brought him back to the harsh reality of where he was. Dr. Garner spoke again, his impatience showing, "Get up, Clark. You've slept long enough."

Clark sat up slowly, his muscles still aching, and he tried to stand but a wave of dizziness and nausea rolled over him and he practically fell back onto the bed. He put his head between his knees, took a deep breath, and tried very hard not to throw up.

"What's wrong?" It wasn't said with concern so much as annoyance.

"Uh," was all he could muster.

"I don't have all day and I will not play your games. Get. Up. Or we will get you up, understand?" he motioned for the men behind him to come forward.

"I think I'm sick." He looked up briefly at the men then to Garner.

"You don't get sick," he said, noticing the dark circles and worn look in Clark's features.

"Meteor rock makes me sick, you idiot," Clark snapped and held his palm out.

Garner smirked, his expression a cross between irritation and amusement. Clark's behavior angered him but he had to appreciate a guy who didn't bullshit. He grabbed Clark's wrist and examined the cuts. The yellowing bruises had begun to turn purple and the cuts were swollen. Clark winced when he pressed on one of the cuts, nearly tearing it open again.

Dr. Garner made an aggravated sound, said "damn it," dropped Clark's hand, and then left without another word.

Clark breathed a sigh of relief, hoping they wouldn't return for the day, or at least for a while. He lay back down and curled into himself, willing his stomach to stop cramping and hoping he would heal soon.

------

Two days later Clark still felt horrible but Dr. Garner insisted he could 'handle it' and said he would not waste any more time waiting for a few scars to heal. At least, Clark thought thankfully, they decided not to use the larger cylinder tank and had dialed down the meteor-to-water ratio. However, the plan changed when Clark got halfway into the treatment room and threw up before passing out completely.

After that, it was decided that all treatments would halt until Clark had recovered fully, but they decided to test his intelligence. They put a small desk and chair in his room and gave him several assessment and intelligence tests, and also allowed him books and newspapers to read. Clark assumed they were watching him, to gain an idea of how fast he could read or even to see which book he chose. Dr. Garner seemed to want to know everything about his mind and thought processes. And while it was scary Garner didn't show as much care for his physical state, Clark was at least grateful that he wasn't bored brain-dead anymore.

It took only a few more days of rest, medicated bandages, and one not-so-pleasant colonic procedure for the cuts to heal and the kryptonite that had entered his system to leave. Although Clark felt a great deal better, the occasional mind-melting headache would hit and leave him wishing for his head to just explode already. Dr. Garner hastily dismissed his concerns about the headaches because when he saw that Clark had healed, he literally restarted treatments just minutes later, eager to make up for lost time.

------

Dr. Garner's projects had always taken up a large part of his life, but this particular one felt like it was consuming all of it; he practically lived in his office now. It wasn't that he minded really, he knew this would take a level of commitment that none in the past had, but Molly was constantly berating him to spend a night at home with her. And who was he to refuse a beautiful woman?

He filled her wine glass, placed the bottle in the cooler then sat across the table, "This looks great." She smiled back and he marveled at her beauty, that she could look this graceful and delicate while eating.

They ate in silence, occasionally smiling at one another, their relationship still in the 'I can't live without you!' phase. In the past, he knew she had feelings for him but they kept things strictly professional. He needed her skills and she needed his protection and support. As they say, why fix something that isn't broken?

It wasn't until he came out of his coma, and of all his colleagues and so-called friends, Molly was the only one who helped him recover, that he realized he was ready to fix whatever wasn't broken. Plus, it wasn't often for a brainy brunette with legs that didn't end to desire a man like him.

"I read your recent reports," Molly said behind her glass of Merlot.

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow and she nodded. "And?"

"They were… interesting."

He set his glass down, "If you have something to say, just say it."

"Well, it's none of my business, but don't you think you are being a bit reckless?"

"Reckless?" he laughed. "I hardly think my research is reckless. Do you realize the benefits the scientific community could gain from this?"

"I do, but you've rushed it. You let your impatience get in the way and look what happened."

"I found what I was looking for, that's what."

"At what cost? Sure, you got information you would have reached eventually, but Clark got sick because of it."

"There are always setbacks with a project of this magnitude. It wasn't something he couldn't recover from."

"What about the headaches?"

"Side effect."

She scoffed, "You have got to be kidding me? It said clearly in your report that they are debilitating. That is more than a side effect and you know it. Stop minimizing the severity of this, I know perfectly well what you're doing."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. You're ignoring his symptoms because you're scared."

"Scared?" he barked a laugh.

"Let me finish," her gaze was intense. It was obvious she was becoming angry with him. "You're ignoring the signs that the meteorite is affecting him on a long term basis and it's foolish. Before you even started, you were concerned about the repercussions of long- term exposure and now it's happening, and you're scared it will ruin the entire project. Stop rushing and stop pushing him beyond what you know his body is capable of."

"I am not rushing or ignoring anything. Clark is playing up the intensity of the headaches and I'm not falling for it."

"You don't know that."

"He's an alien," his voice grew louder; "You know what he's capable of. If it weren't for his weakness to the meteorite he would have killed us all and escaped by now. We cannot trust him."

"That is not true. Call him an alien all you want but you know his past; he is not some little green monster who wants to harm us. And don't think you can justify what you're doing with me."

"Molly," he said calmly, "it has been debated for centuries whether we are alone in the universe and _I_ have the answer. That is not something I am willing give up over a few headaches."

"I'm not asking you to give up your research."

"Why do you care so much?" he shot back, "He's just another experiment, just another fre-" he shut up, but too late. She glared at him then looked away. She had been called a freak her entire life and it hurt to hear him use it, even if it wasn't aimed at her. He knew how much she hated that word. "Damn it," he whispered to himself, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

She turned back and said calmly, "It doesn't matter. I know you can't understand why I sympathize with Clark but-"

"For Christ's sake, will you stop acting like a child? He's an alien!"

She glared again, continuing, "_but_ I want you to know I do realize your research is important," she stood and gathered her plate and glass, "but I know first hand what meteor rock can do to people and all I'm saying is, be careful before everything you've worked for dies in that tank." She walked to the kitchen and said over her shoulder, "And I promise to conduct myself strictly in an adult manner from now on."

He watched her leave and knew what his night would entail, so much for a peaceful evening away from work. Maybe if he apologized now she would…

The bedroom door slammed. "Shit." He was screwed.

------

Clark couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started but gradually he began to forget things that, being a super powered alien and, well, young, he should not have forgotten. At first it was small things, like waking up confused, not knowing where he was or the entire first half of a book he read only a day before. But over the next few weeks, the small things became frighteningly large.

The loud clank of the door woke him and Dr. Garner came in, "Good morning Clark," he said almost too pleasantly.

Clark rolled over to face him and asked groggily, "Can't we wait another day? I need more rest." Each day he felt more exhausted than the last. "I'm _so_ tired."

"You've had two days of rest," Garner said, annoyed. "Do we really have to go through this bull every treatment day because frankly, I'm getting sick of it."

Clark's expression twisted in confusion. He sat up and rubbed his face, "What are you talking about? The last treatment was yesterday."

His aggravated look turned to surprise then quickly cleared. He stared at Clark for a moment, putting things together. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um… coming back here after the treatment," he said, yawning. He was so tired.

"That was two days ago."

"No it wasn't."

"I think I would know. You don't remember anything you did the last two days?"

Clark looked perplexed and said warily, "No," he put his head in his hands, thinking, "nothing."

"Hmm."

Clark looked up, "You're sure?"

"Positive," he said flatly, turning to leave. He stopped at the door, "You know Clark, deception can be fickle. You can use it to get everything you've ever wanted, but it can also ruin your life and cause an unbelievable amount of pain."

Looking at him, Clark said firmly, "I'm not playing you."

"You better not be," he said, with a threatening look, then left.

Clark fell back onto the bed, feeling like he could sleep for another ten hours, and sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I wish I was faking."

There was no denying he was scared; this wasn't some small memory lapse. _Two days._ How could he be missing two whole days? He tried to remember something from them, even the smallest detail, but in his mind it was as if they never happened. Thinking it over, he was fairly certain of the cause, when one underwent experimental mind invasion on a near-daily basis, it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

It had to stop before he lost too much.


	7. Update 7

-

Clark spent the next day weighing his options and they came down to (A) do nothing and hope the memory lapses would stop, or (B) do whatever he could to save himself. Being the logical person he liked to think he was he figured 'A' didn't stand a chance in hell of happening, and while 'B' was vague, it was pretty much the only option he saw working.

He was dressed and ready when Dr. Garner came in holding large x-rays. "Oh good, you're up." It really bothered Clark when he was friendly because he was such a jackass the rest of the time.

"We need to talk," Clark said, standing up. He still felt exhausted but today was important.

"Yes, we do," he held up an x-ray and began, "Now I want to show you-"

"No," Clark cut him off, "I need to talk and you need to listen."

He smirked, a little surprised, "Oh really?"

"Yes." Clark held his ground, he had something to say and would not let his shot-to-hell nerves prevent him from stepping up and saying it.

Garner placed the x-rays on the desk and crossed his arms. He was annoyed, amused and honestly, a little curious about this new development. "Alright, go ahead."

Clark took a breath and squeezed his trembling hand into a fist. "First, I want to say that although I am being held against my will, I can at least appreciate that you haven't treated me like an animal or freak." Garner smiled so he quickly added, "Don't take that as a compliment. Don't think I'm the least bit happy with this situation."

"I've done everything you've asked. Taken every test you've given and I haven't tried to hurt you or your men but believe me, if it came to that, I could." That got him a raised eyebrow. "Basically I have been a good 'test subject' because there is nothing I can do about it. I've thought of every possible way to escape and even tried a few. I know I can't get out of here on my own. I know what will happen if I get near the walls and even the hallways. I know it all."

"Do you have a point?"

Clark's jaw clenched and his fists tightened, "My point is I've been obedient because I'm not willing to die trapped here and losing my memory fall in that category. A change needs to be made or I won't be so cooperative in the future."

Garner straightened, his face angry, "You're giving me an ultimatum?"

"I have no choice." His heart was pounding and his hands were trembling, his adrenaline increasing.

"That's right. You have no choice." He stepped forward, voice rising, "You think I give a damn if you cooperate? You said it yourself, Clark, you can't do a thing about what I do to you. You have no control or leverage and you're a fool to think I'd actually negotiate with you."

All of his anger and pain from the last month filled him with a rage that would have scared him had he been thinking clearly. A feeling of desperation came over him. Staying within the given parameters of his room, he sped forward, grabbed Garner and forced him to his knees in a headlock, holding his arms behind and above his head.

Dr. Garner didn't know what happened but suddenly Clark was behind him and what felt like a vice was wrapped around his neck. "That was a mistake," he grunted, trying to pull against Clark's steel grip.

"I don't have anything to lose. If I stay here I'll lose my mind and life. That is not happening, now shut up and tell me how to get out." He squeezed his arm tighter around Garner's neck.

"Ugh… there is no way out for you," he grumbled, struggling to move his arms, to get his hands closer together. "The second you pass over that line the panels will activate. Even if you got out of this room, my men will know."

"Not if you call them off."

He was able to move his hand further and reach his wrist, "Not necessary." He pressed a small hidden button on the side of his watch and the loud clank of the panels began. Clark's grip instantly loosened but he still held tight. "Give up, Clark. You no longer have the upper hand."

Clark stifled a groan as the pain intensified. He kept his focus on his strength, drawing as much as he could. He flexed his arm and squeezed it tighter. Garner made a muffled sound and struggled harder. Clark was cutting off his air.

"I. Will. Not. Die. Here." Clark said curtly. The kryptonite forced him to his knees but he refused to loosen his hold. Had it not been for the kryptonite, his arm would have snapped Garner's neck by now. Beads of sweat began to form on his neck and forehead; he said through gritted teeth, "I will kill you now if you don't do what I say."

"'k-ay, okay" Garner choked out, gasping for breath.

"Let me go home."

"No," he rasped, "anything… but that."

"That's all I want."

"T-Then… kill… me."

Clark squeezed, his heart and head pounding, his ears echoing with the sound of bones beginning to crack. He wanted it -almost needed it- with every fiber of his being, but a voice that sounded remarkably like his father set off alarms in his mind.

_No! No! Don't! This isn't you! You won't be able to live with yourself! You are a good person! Don't!_

Clark groaned furiously and let his arm loosen completely. The strength that had come from nowhere left him. He fell forward, his head leaning in his arms, his body shaking from the anger coursing through his body and the kryptonite. He pounded his fist against the cement; his frustration, anger and pure pain were overwhelming. He felt angry with himself for what he almost did and even more for how much he wanted it. He was so close, too close.

Dr. Garner fell over then scooted further away from Clark while he gasped for much needed breath. He looked back to Clark and his face grew red hot with rage. He staggered upright, using the desk for support. He breathed heavily and spoke; his voice was weak and dry, "You fucking idiot." He grabbed the x-rays and threw them on the floor near Clark. "The meteorite treatments are damaging your temporal lobes and in the hippocampus region of your brain." He said, holding his throat, his face twisted in pain.

Clark could barely hear over the pounding in his head but he heard enough to choke out, "How much damage?"

"Enough to cause several forms of amnesia. I came to tell you that and suggest a treatment but you just ruined any fucking chance you had at keeping your mind intact. You can rot in alien hell for all I care." He took one last look at Clark grimacing on the floor, rubbing his tender neck, and said with disgust, "Piece of shit!"

The door slammed hard when Garner left and shortly after, the panels closed. The gut wrenching pain running through his body stopped except in his head. The adrenaline spike, stress and kryptonite had brought on another migraine, this one worse than all the others.

"Ahhurgh!" he screamed, the pain unbearable. He pressed his forehead against the cool cement, tears pooling around it, and pounded the floor again, desperate for some relief. Pressure beat against his skull like a drum, blackening the edges of his vision. It became so intense that his vision turned completely black for several panic-filled minutes before he finally passed out.

-

Molly jumped when the door slammed so hard that it shook the frame. She twirled her chair around and gasped. Her lover's neck was red with ghastly bruises forming around it and his expression was furious.

"My God, Lawrence! What happened?"

"He attacked me," he answered, his voice hoarse, swatting her hand away, heading straight for the bottom drawer of his desk. He didn't bother with a glass. Grabbing a bottle of Scotch, he took a long swig, hissing at its sting as he swallowed.

"Are you crazy?" she snatched the bottle before he could take another drink then took a bottle of water from the mini refrigerator. "Here, take small sips. Now, what happened?"

Taking the water from her, he looked at her incredulously. "Isn't it obvious? He attacked me."

"Clark?"

"No, the other psychotic alien! Who the fuck else would I be talking about?"

"Hey! Don't talk to me like that. Calm down before you say something I'll make you regret. What exactly happened?" She pulled an ice tray from the refrigerator and emptied it onto a small towel.

He grumbled and took a drink. "He gave me an ultimatum and attacked me when I said 'no.' Nearly broke my neck."

"What was the ultimatum?" she asked, pressing the towel against his neck.

"Let him leave or he'd kill me."

"And you said no?" her voice pitched.

"I knew he wouldn't do it."

"Excuse me? Just the other night you said if it weren't for the meteor rock he'd kill us all. What happened to that theory?" He didn't say anything. "So he had the opportunity to kill you but didn't? And you still feel that your work is justified?"

"Now is hardly the time to lecture me on how gentle Clark is," he winced then grabbed the towel from her and pressed it to his neck. "What is with you, anyway? You do remember you're the reason he's here at all?"

"When you asked me to write that code, I was under the impression you would run a few tests and Clark would leave without any memory of them. I did not sign up for this. You're slowly destroying him and I'm sorry if that's not alright with me."

"Oh, now you're a crusader for the people? You didn't seem to have a problem with killing a year ago."

She frowned, upset at the reminder. "I'm not proud of what I've done, I can't change the past but I will _not_ pretend this is okay."

"Quit acting like an innocent bystander. You're just as responsible as I am, whether you like it or not."

She stared at him for a moment and then sat down across from his desk, sighing. "I can't do this."

"You don't have a choice," his angry tone quieted and he came around his desk to kneel in front of her. "We're in this together."

-

"Clark," he heard his name called from afar "wake up."

"Ugh," Clark moaned, still lying on the floor of his room. His shirt clung to his chest, he felt overly hot, feverish even. There was still a dull throb against his skull and his vision was fuzzy. A hand touched his shoulder then roughly pushed him onto his back. He moaned again.

"Get the fuck up!" Garner practically yelled, his face inches from Clark's. He squeezed Clark's face with one hand and shook him to gain his attention. "Clark!"

Clark's eyes fell on him but his vision remained unfocused, "Wh-aa?" he mumbled, his jaw beginning to hurt from the hand squeezing it.

"Don't think you can pull that "I'm sick" shit again because whether you are or not, I don't really give a fuck anymore."

"St-oop," Clark pleaded, the pain in his jaw traveling up his skull, intensifying the throbbing.

Dr. Garner turned his head, like a dog studying him. "Do you remember what happened yesterday?"

Clark thought and only a few small flashes sparked in his mind. He remembered feeling angry and wanting to kill Garner, and then advancing on him and his own arm squeezing tight until he felt bones breaking. Then a horrible pain that was followed by feeling panicked as his vision blacked, then nothing. "I… I attacked you." As he said the words, he noticed the dark bruise that circled the doctor's swollen neck.

The corner of Garner's mouth curled a little, almost into a smile then he released his grip and patted Clark's cheek. "Looks like you're ready for more treatments."

That same anger and desperate desire that overwhelmed Clark the day before rushed back as Garner's words struck him. His expression twisted in anger and he quickly grabbed Dr. Garner's arm before he could move and held tight.

Garner didn't look surprised and as if he were expecting Clark to attack again, he pulled a remote from his pocket with his free hand and pressed the button to open the panels. They raised and Clark's hand fell from his arm. He rose from his haunches and watched Clark cringe in pain, delighting in the sight. After the previous days' events, he felt Clark deserved punishment, or payback, he didn't really care which.

Clark had felt the same blood-boiling pain many times in his life, some more intense than others, but each in itself unbearable. It never got better or easier to endure, and since he began Dr. Garner's treatments, it only got worse. The pain… the stabbing, scolding pain swelled and left him feeling weaker each day and it was becoming increasingly difficult for his body to recover in the short periods of time he was free from it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears he did not want escaping in front of his torturer. His stomach flip-flopped and had there been food in it, he would have vomited it back up. Instead, he dry heaved, choking on nothing but pain and anger.

The panels began to close and when he looked up at Dr. Garner, who squatted next to him again, he noticed the two other men in the room, standing near the door. His attention went back to Garner as he spoke.

His voice was deadly serious, "I am not an unreasonable man, Clark. I can forgive and forget just as easily as others can, but I will _not_ tolerate the kind of behavior you exhibited yesterday. Your little stunt was a mistake and I understand that." He paused, as if waiting for Clark to acknowledge him but then continued when he received nothing but a cold, confused stare. "I won't threaten you with meteor rocks or punishments because I think you are smart enough to believe me when I say, if it happens again I will end you."

He stood up and motioned for the two men to get Clark. "You are not as important as you think you are."

Dr. Garner walked out the door and the men took Clark by the arms, hoisting him up. The motion nauseated Clark, the effects of the kryptonite panels still with him, so he just closed his eyes and hoped. For what? Too many things; to be free from everything, to know what he should do, to have the patience he needed to withstand it all, but first and foremost, to not pass out.


	8. Update 8

-

Strength, speed, invulnerability, and weakness to meteorite were the extent of Dr. Garner's knowledge of Clark's alien-ness. He knew there was a possibility of more abilities or alien quirks, it wasn't like Clark was forthcoming about the subject, but never did he anticipate this. He leaned against his stool in front of the monitor; his eyes focused on the screen, his mind and heart racing. The excitement he felt ran through his bones, making him jittery and, dare he say, giddy like a schoolgirl. Just thinking of the possible advances this ability could provide were enough to cause a bright smile to spread, something his technicians found unsettling.

Since the virtual reality was formed directly from Clark's memories, they were from his point of view, as if seeing through his eyes. Lawrence was used to this perspective by now, but the shock of seeing Clark's childhood friend suddenly become a sketch out of a biology book and then a concrete wall disappearing as if it were never there at all, was still with him.

It was in that moment that he realized what he really had in his possession. An extraordinary being with extraordinary 'powers', that belonged to him. It was _all_ his.

Sure, Clark was the cause of most of his problems. He idly rubbed his neck, remembering when Clark foiled his experiments on the young boy, Ryan, and then their encounter after he began treating Lex Luthor. It had been an easy choice to give up Lex's mind for Clark's. Lionel had made it clear that Clark Kent's brain was something to be explored.

And while that cost him a year of his life, the benefits he would reap now would be worth it. They would be _extraordinary_, like Clark, that much was for sure. His research would be praised, not only by the scientific community, but by the world. They would give him a Nobel Prize. The history books would hold _his_ name and picture. Tell of his brilliance and perseverance. That he dedicated his life to bring this knowledge to his people.

Dr. Lawrence Garner. Philanthropist. Genius.

A loud clank brought his attention back to reality. His smile vanished on the surface, but knowing his fantasy would someday become his reality, it remained just below, a smile full of confidence. He finally pulled his attention away from his destiny when the clank became clanks and the technicians started scurrying around him. Clark, back in the cylinder tank, was shaking, causing the metal platform to bang against the glass.

"Doctor, should we pull him out?" an assistant asked from behind him.

"No."

"But sir."

"I said no." He pressed a button and spoke into a microphone at his controls, so Clark could hear him through the speakers. "Clark, listen to me. You have to calm down. Take slow breaths and focus on my voice."

"Go… to… hell." Clark's voice came back in gasps through his earpiece.

His smile returned. Alien, superpowers, and nearly broken necks aside, Clark was by far his most entertaining project. The kid had tenacity. He kept things fresh. He bit back. Lawrence respected that in a man, so he could respect that in this alien as well.

"Take me to another memory, a recent event where you used your…" See-through view? Clear vision? X-ray sight? What did one call seeing through solid objects?

The clanging sound stopped, causing him to forget his thoughts and look up. Clark had passed out. "Damn," he said, thoroughly disappointed he could not continue investigating the ability. He sighed, pulling his earpiece out, "Alright, pull him out." The next few days would be crucial in his research. He would have to devise some tests to find what range this vision had and how Clark controlled it. Yes, it would be a lot easier to deal with Clark's attitude now. What was a little 'tude in the scope of brilliance?

-

When he was eight, nearly everyone in his class got chicken pox. He remembered feeling left out, like there was something wrong with him for not getting them. Later when he asked what it was like, Pete told him, miserably, that he itched constantly and that his skin hurt so much he thought it might fall off. At the time, Clark said 'coooool' and 'ewwww' but now he wondered the same thing. If he itched his skin hard enough, would his invulnerability give in to his own strength and let his skin fall off? Because it sure felt like it would.

The last few treatments left him feeling… itchy. His skin was red, dry and peely; like the top of Chloe's nose looked when she got bad sunburn. Except this was everywhere. He woke up to a twitchy feeling on his chest that eventually spread into a burning itch.

Near the end of his first day of itching, Clark started to laugh; it wasn't hysterical or even very humorous, it was a low desperate laugh. All of a sudden, his situation seemed ridiculous. Everything that had happened; waking up in this place without any memory of his arrival, soaking in his poison, losing his memory, feeling utterly sick on a daily basis, killer migraines, and now, to top it all off, his skin decided to revolt. Could things get worse? With a loud laugh he decided they could and probably would. What next, he mused. Male pregnancy? Gangrene? Baldness? Gang rape? Syphilis?

Okay, maybe he was a little hysterical.

But wasn't it about time he became hysterically hopeless and gave up? Tell Garner everything he wanted just to make the madness that was now his life end? It wasn't the best of solutions but considering his state of mind, Clark didn't think it was too bad.

No, he wouldn't do that. No matter how much he thought about it, or fantasized that it would make things better, he knew it would only make them worse. And he knew, really knew, in the feel-it-in-your-bones knowing way, this wasn't his destiny. As much as he hated that word and everything it meant for him, he couldn't help but live for it now.

So he did what every otherworldly hostage would do. He played nice -well, kind of nice- until the big D word came around to change things.

"You're up late."

Clark had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn't heard the door open. "Yeah, well, that's what happens whe-" he stopped as he looked up to see Molly Griggs, not Dr. Garner. That was new. "What are you doing here?"

"You remember me?"

The wheels turned and the light bulb clicked. He had tried to figure out how he came to be here numerous times, but each time he came up empty handed. Why hadn't he realized this sooner? The very last memory he had of home was checking his email before school. Of course Dr. Garner would use his crazy computer chick to make a crazy computer brainwash to lure him. It was the cleanest, easiest way to capture Clark. He remembered Garner's words to him, _"You came here of your own will."_ It really was true, in a way. He walked right into their trap.

He started to laugh again. Syphilis? No. Brainwashed? Check.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." She stood, arms crossed, a few feet from where he laid, sprawled on his bed. She noticed red scratches covering his arms and the somewhat mad look in his eyes. She wasn't afraid of him but his laugh was disturbing. She stepped closer and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

Clark stopped laughing then sat up and gave her a cold look. "Do you really think I could be okay?"

Molly was taken aback by the look he gave her. "Right. Sorry." She had been on the receiving end of icy stares before, but his was filled with such anger, such pain. Maybe she should be afraid of him.

"So, what? Garner's got you in his pocket? Or are you a freelance brainwasher now?"

"No… I…" she stumbled, realizing he was right. "Yeah… something like that."

He was about to retort something snide but thought better of it. For whatever purpose, she had come to see him in the middle of the night, possibly without the doc's knowledge. Maybe she felt guilty? If that was the case, he could use her guilt to his advantage. He dropped his head and rubbed his neck, ignoring the itch, and did his best 'defeated' look. He sighed, "I'm sorry… I didn't mean… it's just…" he sighed again. "I'm so tired."

It worked. Her eyes softened and she looked entirely guilty. "No, it's okay. You have a right to be angry with me."

Clark let his eyes water (thank you freshman drama class) then looked away in embarrassment. Manipulation at its finest.

"Is that…" she stepped forward, motioning to his arm, "…do you have a rash or infection?"

He hadn't noticed he was scratching but it actually worked for what he was doing. "Yeah."

"Is it from the treatments?"

He shook his head 'yes', "I think so." Now she looked annoyed, but not with him. Score: Clark 1 Garner 0.

"Is it bad?"

He pulled up his shirt, showing his marred skin… and muscles. He wasn't as ripped as he had been, but muscles were muscles. He made sure to flex. "It's unbearable." When she reached out to touch his chest, he flinched away and pulled his shirt down. "Sorry… it just hurts too much." She stepped back and nodded. "Do you think… could you bring me some balm or lotion?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know. I'm actually not supposed to be here." Clark started scratching his leg and put on his 'ouchy' face. His mom could never resist it; he hoped it had the same affect on all women. "I'll see what I can do." She smiled, a little uneasy.

"Thanks," he smiled back, keeping his 'ouchy' face intact. "Why _are_ you here?"

"Hm?" She seemed caught off guard.

"You said you weren't supposed to be here so I'm just wondering why you are."

"Well," she shifted her feet, "Honestly, Clark, I'm not sure."

"Oh."

"I guess I wanted to talk to you about Lawrence."

"Lawrence?" he feigned ignorance. First-name basis with the doc, huh? Perhaps they were more than business associates.

She quickly corrected herself, "Dr. Garner, I mean," she flushed. Clark nodded but stayed silent. "I know you won't believe me but he's not as bad as you think. He's a good man; he just gets caught up in his work and-"

"You came here to defend him?" Clark cut her off. It wasn't going to help his plan of manipulating her to his side but he couldn't control it. She really had the audacity to come to him and say those things? He could already feel his anger rising.

"No… yes. Listen, he knows what he wants and he won't let you stand in the way. In fact, you're his ticket to fame, fortune, and notoriety."

"If this is your way of defending him-"

"It's not. He's not going to stop, nothing will stop him, so maybe you should make things easier on yourself by complying more."

"Don't you mean, make things easier until I die and he can dissect me?" He stood up and she stepped back. His voice was full of hostility. "If he doesn't kill me himself, the meteorites will, so don't come here in his defense and tell me he's a good man. You know damn well what he is. What kind of person could do this?" He fumed, on top of everything else this was the last thing his night needed. "I mean, look at me! You're seeing first hand what he's doing and all you can do is defend him!" A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, a telling sign of an encroaching migraine. He sat back down and sighed. "I shouldn't have expected anything more from you," he spoke quietly, putting his head in his hands and closing his eyes. "You tried to kill Chloe, tried to make me kill her. You killed her editor."

"I…" she started but stopped, unsure of what she was going to say anyway. There was a horrible feeling in her gut. Guilt? Anger? Sadness? Maybe a mixture of all three?

"Go," he said through gritted teeth, a sharp pain beginning to resonate behind his eyes. "Please… just _go_."

Without another word, Molly turned and left, leaving them both confused and frustrated.


End file.
